Burden of Truth (Cass Leary Legal Thriller Series Book 1)

by Robin James

  At my table, it was just me with Jeanie at my back. A year ago, my team would have dwarfed Jack’s. The Thorne Group would have hired a cadre of jury consultants alone. I smiled at the memory. Today, I wouldn’t need them. I knew the people of this town. How they thought. What they liked. What they feared. Right now, every metric was stacked against my client. But if I could plant the seed of doubt. If I could get them to understand the biggest lie this town hid … then Aubrey had a fighting chance.

  Castor took the bench promptly at nine. Aubrey shifted in her seat beside me. I put a hand on her knee beneath the table. She had to play her part starting right now as the gallery filled with dozens of potential jurors.

  Voir dire went smoothly as those things go. We eliminated ten people who had played on one of Coach D’s teams. I tried to stretch it and get rid of anyone who even went to Delphi High. Jack pushed me to use my freebie peremptory challenges. I pushed back. As we broke for lunch, we’d settled on a twelve-member jury with four alternates. Six men. Six women. Three mothers, one of them also a grandmother. Five of the men were fathers. I was as pleased with that as I could be.

  “I think we’re set,” Judge Castor said.

  I raised a finger. “Your Honor, I need to renew my motion for a transfer of venue in this case. We’ve completed voir dire. We have a tainted jury pool by their own admissions.”

  Judge Castor flapped a dismissive hand as Jack rose to speak. “Ms. Leary. The jurors have been extensively questioned. They have stated they believe they can render an impartial verdict in this case. I’m going to take their word for it. Your motion is denied. You’ve preserved your issue for appeal. Let’s move on. I’d like to see if we can get through opening statements and have the state call its first witness before we end for the day. What are the chances, Mr. LaForge?”

  “I’ll do my level best, Your Honor,” Jack answered.

  The jury had already been dismissed for lunch with the standard admonishment not to discuss the case outside the jury room. For the rest of us, we would treat them like plutonium if we bumped into them in the hallway.

  Judge Castor pounded his gavel and we rose as he left the bench. I patted Aubrey on the back.

  “It’s good,” I said. “As good as we can hope for right now. You’re doing great, Aubrey. It’s going to get harder after lunch. I need you to be strong, okay?”

  I turned back to her father. He’d come through the gate separating the gallery from the lawyers’ tables. He went to his daughter and hugged her. I looked back at Jeanie. Diane Ames was still absent. Jeanie guided Aubrey to the back of the courtroom. Miranda had arranged to have some sandwiches delivered and we had access to a conference room one floor up. It would be private. It would keep Aubrey from having to face the angry crowd outside.

  “Dan,” I whispered as soon as Aubrey was out of earshot. “Where’s your wife? She needs to be here.”

  Dan shrugged. “She’s a wreck, Cass. Hysterical. Sean’s no better. The second she gets going, she sets Aubrey off. I’m working on her for tomorrow. Today, it’s no good.”

  I let out a hard breath. “It matters. The jury knows you’re not a single parent. They need to see her. They need to start putting themselves in your shoes and your wife’s. Figure out what Diane needs and get it for her. Are we clear?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll try.”

  “Good. As for you ... You wanna cry? Get red in the face from anger? You do that. No outbursts though. No matter what you hear. And you’re going to hear plenty today. Jack LaForge is going to stand up there and paint your daughter as some kind of jilted lover, or lethal Lolita. Both. Keep your cool. Got it?”

  “Got it,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Dan was the last one to leave the courtroom except for me. I was alone. I took a moment to breathe. I’d said all the things I needed to say to my client and her father. Now I just had to heed them for myself.

  Jeanie poked her head back in. “You coming? Miranda ordered your favorite. Turkey on rye with a dill pickle spear on the side.”

  “I’m good. I’ll just grab a bottled water.” Jeanie came all the way into the courtroom.

  “No good.”

  “No. Seriously. I don’t eat during trial. I’ll carbo-load tonight. Promise.”

  “Suit yourself. No luck on Diane Ames though. Miranda couldn’t even get her to come to the door.”

  “Yeah. I put the fear of God into her husband about it. I’m pretty sure he’ll drag her in tomorrow. For now, I can only fight one battle at a time.”

  Jeanie tried to bully me into eating something again, but finally gave up. I took the space and time to collect my thoughts. Center myself. Get ready.

  Judge Castor took the bench again at half-past one.

  “Mr. LaForge? Is the State ready to open?”

  “We are, Your Honor.”

  Jack cleared his throat and stepped out from behind his table. He straightened his tie and faced the jury. For now, they were on the literal edges of their seats. That would wane of course, but at that moment, he had them.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a hard thing we are asking you to do. The hardest thing there is in the justice system. For that, I want to thank you for your time and attention in advance.”

  Jack took measured breaths and struck a casual posture at the end of the jury box. I knew he would play well with them. He was average-looking in an almost studied way. His suit was gray, not shiny, and he wore a maroon tie. In his early fifties, he had all his hair and just a slight pouch to his mid-section. Everything about him was neutral. Not too handsome. Not too homely. Just … average. Non-threatening. Whatever impression the jury had of him, they would not be jealous, nor intimidated by this man. That of course is exactly what he was after.

  “You may have heard of the victim in this case. Larry Drazdowski. Coach D as most of the people in this town knew him. He liked that. Loved it, actually. Coach D wasn’t from around here. He was born near Traverse City. An outsider. Coming to Delphi was a risk for him. He had other offers. Better ones, actually. But Larry Drazdowski saw something about Delphi that stirred his heart. He saw this town had a heart. And it had kids he believed he could help.

  “He came here when he was just thirty years old. Twenty-one years ago. In fact, at the end of this last school year, the school administrators arranged a party for him, celebrating his twentieth anniversary at Delphi High. There was a lot to celebrate. Coach D wasn’t your ordinary basketball coach. Or track coach. We’ve all seen the signs on the outskirts of town. Eight state championships. We take pride in it. It’s a badge of honor. If you’re ever outside the city limits and you tell somebody where you’re from, I’ll bet you hear it. Oh, you’re the school with the basketball team, right? I know I’ve heard that plenty. Yes. That’s my town. That’s my school. We did that.

  “But if you talk to any of the kids who played for Coach D. And a whole lot of the ones who didn’t. If you ask them about the coach, they won’t mention those state championships. They’ll mention the man. The coach. Coach D. Sure, he cared about those trophies. I’m sure he was proud of that record. He knew what it took to get there.

  “If you asked Coach D what he was most proud of, he’d tell you it was the kids. He wouldn’t take credit for those trophies. Not one of them. Even all these years later, he’d be able to tell you the names of each and every kid he ever coached. Not just the starters. The benchwarmers. The managers. And plenty who were just fans who came to all of the games.

  “Coach D had no kids of his own. No wife. No immediate family. His students were his family. He brought them into his home. He had a knack for seeking out kids in need. Not necessarily those starters. The ones from broken homes. The ones who needed just a little bit of extra help in the classroom.

  “He was a mentor. A friend. He wasn’t just a tough taskmaster on the basketball court. Though he was that too. You can’t win those trophies without putting the work in behind them. But the boys on those teams would do anyth
ing for Coach D. He meant that much to them. They were a family. The only family Coach D ever needed.”

  Aubrey bristled beside me. Her posture went rigid. I touched her knee beneath the table again, bringing her back to the present. She cast her eyes downward and I watched her exhale. Jack pivoted on his heel and walked to the center of the courtroom. I gave Aubrey an encouraging squeeze again. Here came the hard part.

  “Ladies and gentleman, on the night of June 22nd when another troubled student reached out to him, he was there. You’ll see just how much. How he went against his own instincts, put aside obvious reservations, maybe did something against his better judgment. But when this student asked for help, Coach D couldn’t turn her away. It was the last thing he ever did.

  “Now, I don’t have to dazzle you with fancy legal theories. I don’t have to make you hate the defendant. You shouldn’t hate her. In fact, I beg you not to. The only thing I will beg you to do is listen to her. Her very own words. You might go home debating the whys, the what ifs. I sure have. But, in the end, this case is simple.

  “Aubrey Ames reached out to Coach D. She knew he’d listen. She knew he would answer her call for help just like he did for hundreds of other students. Only this time, it cost him his life. This time, Coach D made the fatal flaw of meeting the defendant alone in Shamrock Park. He thought it was safe there. Neutral. Private. Because whatever the defendant wanted to talk to him about, he’d give her that dignity.

  “Coach D went to the park that night. Was it wise? Was it appropriate? Probably not. But it’s who Larry Drazdowski was. He didn’t leave the park alive that night. Instead, the end of the world happened. In Coach D’s reality, the end of the word was a cold blade slicing through his body, driving straight into his kidney. He died alone, ladies and gentleman. Bleeding to death. When it was his time to ask for help, none would ever come.

  “So, I want you to listen to the evidence presented in this case. All of it. I’ll admit, some of the things you’ll hear about the coach might not be flattering. He was a flawed human being, just like the rest of us. He made bad choices. But, once you’ve heard everything, I believe your job will be simple. Not easy. But simple. All you have to do is take the defendant, Aubrey Ames, at her word. Thank you.”

  Aubrey turned a soft shade of purple. I put a hand on her back and she started breathing again. I’d prepared her for this moment as much as I could. She needed a champion. The thing she never had before now. But I had a giant elephant on my back. I could not tell the jury about facts that weren’t yet in evidence. If things went how we planned, this jury would hear every sordid detail of Coach D’s life and what he’d done. I just couldn’t tell them that right now.

  “Ms. Leary?” Judge Castor said.

  I gave him a nod and rose from my seat. “Thank you, Your Honor. Members of the jury. I too would like to thank you for your time here today. My name is Cass Leary and I represent the defendant who you see sitting over at that table. Her name is Aubrey Ames.

  “Ladies and gentleman, Larry Drazdowski was the victim of a horrible crime. The manner in which he died is gut-wrenching. He did die alone. He did bleed to death. And he didn’t deserve it. None of us do. Those are facts. We may wish they weren’t true, but they are.

  “In this case, I will tell you. Things aren’t always what they seem.

  “Larry Drazdowski wasn’t the only victim in the park that night. Throughout the course of this trial, you’re going to hear some things that will probably shock you. They’ll make you angry. They should. And my colleague, Mr. LaForge, he got something right just now. Aubrey Ames was a troubled former student. She’s never denied that. She’s made some pretty big mistakes. And she did go to the park that night. She did have a relationship with the coach that you’ll hear about over the next few days. Again, I offer you this. Things aren’t always what they seem.

  “When Aubrey Ames left Shamrock Park, Larry Drazdowski was still very much alive. Right now, we don’t know who killed Mr. Drazdowski. So, when you listen to the lead detective on this case, you might get frustrated. There are a lot of unanswered questions. Larry Drazdowski was a former college athlete. A basketball player. He was six foot six and over two hundred pounds. Physically fit. He worked out with those boys on the court all the way up until the week he died. Boys who were half his age. Strong. At the peak of their physical prowess. He hung with them. You might even hear a few of them say how he ‘kicked their you-know-whats on a regular basis.’

  “And then there’s my client.” I turned to Aubrey, leaving the question in the air. From the looks on the jury’s faces, I knew they were thinking it. She was tiny. Almost frail looking.

  “We’ll ask those questions,” I continued. “And we’ll answer many more. Mr. LaForge is right. This is a hard case. But the law is clear. You’ve been asked to judge whether my client is guilty or not guilty. You must presume she is innocent. And it’s the prosecution’s responsibility to prove to you that she committed this crime beyond a reasonable doubt. That means there can be no other reasonable alternative explanation for what happened that night. That’s a very heavy burden. It’s the highest burden we have in the criminal justice system. It should be. The defendant’s life, her future, is at stake. And it’s in your hands.

  “I know you’ll take the responsibility seriously. It’s why you’re still here. But I want you to keep something very important in mind over the next few days in this case. Things aren’t always what they seem.”

  I left it at that. It was all I could do for now.

  The judge shifted in his seat. “Mr. LaForge, you may call your first witness.”

  Chapter 27

  Jack called Marian Emmett to the stand. At sixty-seven she was fit, trim, and wore a deep-green designer suit. Her hair was perfectly coiffed and dyed jet black. I had the immediate impression that Marian had spent weeks figuring out what to wear today. It mattered to her. But the moment she was sworn in, the woman fell completely apart.

  Jack took his foundational testimony and Marian got through that reasonably well. She lived in the neighborhood abutting Shamrock Park. She and her husband Frank walked there together every single day. At the beginning of June, she’d finally convinced her husband to buy her a puppy. They’d gone for a Shepherd mix and on the night of the 22nd, they went out for a late-night walk with him so he could do his business before they all went to bed. They’d named him Thumper and it turned out he was too much dog for Marian Emmett to handle.

  “Mrs. Emmett,” Jack wound up. “Can you tell me what you saw the night of the 22nd when you took that walk in the park?”

  Marian folded. Silent tears rolled down her eyes. “We’d just gone past the jungle gym. You know, the new one they put up that’s supposed to be A.D.A. compliant. There was something on the ground up by the park bench. Someone. I thought he was sleeping. That happens sometimes. The cops patrol, but not enough, if you ask me. We get drunks in there. Pretty soon it’ll be kids doing drugs if they don’t do something about it. Anyway, I told my husband he should call the police. That’s even before we came up on him. I mean, I would have just turned the other way. But we didn’t. We kept on walking. I wish to God Frank had listened to me.”

  “The man wasn’t sleeping, was he, Mrs. Emmett?”

  She shook her head and openly wept. “No. He was dead. All white. Staring right at me. He looked terrified. All that blood. Dead. Just dead. Who would do that?”

  “Can you tell me what time this was, approximately?”

  “Right around midnight.”

  After that, Marian became incoherent. She turned purple and asked for a glass of water. Jack tried a few more questions but her answers were unintelligible sobs. The court recorder kept asking her to repeat them. Judge Castor called for a five-minute recess. After which, Jack turned the witness over to me.

  There was very little help I could get from Marian Emmett. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I knew every member of that jury sympathized with her. Other than
Thumper, she literally had no dog in this fight.

  “Mrs. Emmett, thank you for taking the time to be here today. I know how hard this must be for you,” I said.

  “Thank you, honey,” she said. “That’s such a nice suit you have on.” God bless this woman. It was time to get her off the stand as quickly as possible.

  “Thank you. I just have one question. You said you came upon the victim at around midnight. Is there any chance you could be more precise with the time?”

  “Oh,” she sniffed. “Right. We left my house at midnight exactly. He stays up way later than I do. That’s something that happens when you get a little older like we are. You don’t need as much sleep. Anyway, he takes his last pill right before bed. He’s got an application thing on his phone that tells him when to take it. It goes off at twelve fifteen. It hadn’t gone off yet when we found … that poor man. It did though. When I was on the phone with 911. It scared the heck out of me.”

  “And you called 911 as soon as you found the victim?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Oh yes. I already had my phone in my hand. I don’t think I’d been on the phone a minute before Frank’s alarm went off. So that means we must have found that man probably at ten after midnight. It takes us that long to get to that side of the park and Thumper hadn’t done his business yet so we were walking sort of fast.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “That’s very helpful. I have nothing further.”

  Jack waived his redirect and Marian Emmett left the witness stand.

  Jack called Detective Tim Bowman to the stand next. Bowman strode in tall, confident. He said a polite hello to the judge and stood straight, speaking in a clear, booming voice as he was sworn in.

  “Can you state your name for the record?” Jack started.

  Bowman leaned forward, speaking directly into the microphone. “Timothy Randall Bowman.”

  “And what’s your profession, Detective Bowman?”

  “I’m a senior detective with the Delphi Police Department. Personal crimes division.”